Pure
by Traviosita9124
Summary: Katniss takes comfort in Peeta after discovering Darius has been made an Avox. Gale's thoughts as he watches the Games. And Peeta reflects before shocking Panem... again. Slight AU, but mostly set during "Catching Fire". Rated M for a reason.
1. Katniss

This is my first Hunger Games story. Hopefully the first of many, in various fandoms, as I get back into writing after a long-ish break from it. It's been a rougher summer than anticipated, and I finally feel like I'm getting back into the swing of things. That means writing, along with work and school. Let's see how this goes.

I've opened with three lines from Chapter 16 of _Catching Fire_. Obviously, those aren't mine. I just wanted to take part of Suzanne Collins' work to start. After those lines, it diverges into my work. In this, I wanted to explore a bit what could have happened between Peeta and Katniss while they spent time sharing a bed. It's entirely possible that tongues were wagging without anything happening, but I doubt two teens that have been making out for the world to see get into bed together and absolutely nothing happens. But, perhaps that's the brilliance of the books' romantic subplot. The reader is left to draw their own conclusions of what happened between the pair.

Enough with the meandering thoughts. Disclaimer: I promise I'm not making any money off this.

Thanks for reading. Your reviews are also greatly appreciated.

-Katie

* * *

><p>I don't want Peeta tonight. Especially not with Darius around. It's almost as bad as if Gale were here.<p>

But I'm weak and have lost patience with nightmares. And nightmares will surely come after having spent dinner with the now-mute Darius serving me buttered peas. So, before he can creep back down the hall I find myself standing in the open doorway, asking Peeta to stop and inviting him in. I'm grateful that I don't see any sign of Darius as he steps past me and into the dark. I shut the door, lock it and turn into the room, expecting him to be near the bed.

Instead, I turn directly into Peeta's chest. He's somehow managed to find the plainest setting in these showers and smells like soap and heat. I freeze, caught between wanting to wrap my arms around him and guilt that Darius could easily be just on the other side of the door.

"Katniss," he exhales my name into the dark, his tone telling me that he'll be the same stand-up Peeta he's always been, willing to go along with whatever I want. It breaks down any kind of resistance to his presence I had before. Now, I just want those strong arms that chased away nightmares and kept me warm and safe. I wrap my arms around his waist and bury my face into the soft fabric of his shirt, squeezing my eyes shut to prevent any tears from falling. Peeta, for his part, brings his arms up to engulf me, his lips pressed to the crown of my head as he whispers, "It's been a long, hard day. Let's see if some sleep doesn't help."

It's all I can do to loosen my grip on his torso, take him by the hand and lead him to bed.

* * *

><p>I'm not quite sure when, but at some point on the Victory Tour it became common for us to sleep only partially clothed. I feel no reluctance to climb into bed with Peeta wearing no more than a long sleep shirt over my undergarments. While I keep my eyes glued to his upper body, I no longer felt any hesitation when he slips into bed next to me in no more than his undershirt and boxers. Nothing more than kisses has ever passed between us. Some sweet and gentle, others hotter with a demanding edge, but still I have no fear of being so close to him in this way. Peeta would never take advantage of me. That, however, doesn't mean his body is on the same page as his brain.<p>

So, when I awake in the middle of the night, with Peeta wrapped around my back, his arm holding me comfortably close to him and his hardness against my rear, I'm not surprised. I'm not disgusted as I was the first time, either. My mind rolls around his accusation that I am "pure", at least by Capitol standards. I huff internally. How pure a girl would climb into bed with a boy she's been jumping on camera for a year? And climb in wearing not much more than her underwear?

Peeta shifts in his sleep, pressing his hips more firmly against my bottom. I feel an echo of the heat and hunger I've felt a few times before when we kiss as he presses his lips to my neck. I can tell by the steady cadence of his breathing that he's still asleep. Of course he's still asleep. The few times we've woken in this position always lead to a lot of muttering and refusal to look into my eyes as he leaves my bed. A wicked voice seems to whisper in my ear. It urges me onward, makes sure that I'm well aware of the dull throb in my groin. I connect the throb to a word I've heard tossed about: lust. Before I truly realize what I'm doing, I roll my own hips back into the boy in my bed. I smile when my action earns a stifled moan and his arm tightening around me.

I don't expect the thrill that runs down my spine when his shuddering breath, bearing my name, hits my ear. He's awake now and about to make a run for it. I can feel the tension in his chest and arms as his sleep-addled brain puts two and two together. I'm aware that this is likely one of the last nights we'll ever spend together. In the next week, I will most likely be dead, and Peeta will be on his way back to 12 to live a long, full life. In this moment, Gale and Darius are far from my thoughts. All I know is that I don't want Peeta to leave. I want to know where this wanting feeling can lead.

I want a memory of us together to take with me as I leave this world.

I turn to face him so I can look him in the eye. The lights filtering in from the busy streets below my window just let me make out his blue eyes. My chest constricts as I recognize hope, fear and embarrassment in his gaze. I think I see my own desire mirrored in those gentle pools, but he's pulling away.

"I'm sorry, Katniss, I'm just going to go-"

My left hand suddenly has a mind of its own and has found its way to Peeta's strong jaw. He stops speaking as I touch him, my thumb resting on the swell of his lower lip. We're frozen in a moment that seems to stretch forever. He's so close that I can feel his breath on my face, and know that he'll taste like the mint paste he used to clean his teeth before bed. I lean into him, pushing Peeta back into the pillows. His hands are warm where they land on my hips. As I feel his mouth respond to mine, our tongues entwined in an intimate give-and-take that all of Panem has been witness to. I realize that Peeta's right. I am pure. Or, at least pure enough to not really know where to go from here. I know I want him to satisfy the hungry edge I feel when I kiss him. I know, from gossip overheard at school about what goes on next to the slag heap and the scant information provided in health class, that Peeta holds the key to solving this particular dilemma. I just don't know how to get him to go about it.

Fortunately, Peeta solves my problem before I have to admit ignorance. He brings his right hand up to cup my jaw. The move makes me feel surprisingly feminine. I try to focus on the feel of his lips moving from mine, to my jaw, to my neck. He suckles lightly where he can see my heart beat. I moan softly and can feel him grin at my reaction. These kisses are definitely of the hungry variety. I would be perfectly content to lie here forever with him, heat coursing through my veins to pool low in my stomach. I twine one hand in his hair, keeping his head in place, but my other slips down to find the hand he's left on my hip. I lace my fingers in his and guide his hand beneath the hem of what passes as my nightgown these days. It's not until his fingers hit the smooth, synthetic fabric of my panties covering my hip that he realizes where, exactly, I've put his hand. He removes his mouth from my neck to find my eyes. I see that his are clouded over and unfocused.

He licks his lips, nervous and hesitant despite my aggression. "Katniss, are you sure?"

I am sure, sure that I want him but unsure of what to do. I can hear Madge in my head as she tells me that he needs to hear I love him. That he needs to know I want him and am not doing this because I fear my impending death. I ask my only female friend why can't it be a bit of both. The specter rolls her eyes at me and leaves me to puzzle this one out myself. So, I give him the closest thing I have to what he needs, the most I am capable of giving at that moment.

"I'm sure, Peeta. I trust you," and I tug his head back down so his lips can meet mine.

His grin is infectious and I'm smiling when his lips crash back onto mine. He moves with more confidence than I would expect. Peeta shifts so he can lay me on my back and have better access to my neck. His hardness is now against my thigh. I can feel his heartbeat where he presses into me, and recognize the answering rhythm between my own legs.

Goosebumps form on my skin as Peeta exposes it to air. His fingers are reverent and still on my waist as I sit up and skim the fabric over my head. His audible, quick intake of breath when I lie back down pleases me. It's nearly enough to forget that in a week I may well be dead. He strips himself of his undershirt, revealing more muscle than I remember him having. I raise my right hand and run my fingertips from his Adam's apple to his pectorals and down to his stomach. I repeat the motion when I realize that aside from allowing me to map his skin, it's caused his eyes to darken and his breathing to become shallow. My hand fits perfectly over his breastbone. The rapid beating of his heart captures my attention as his own hands come alive and begin to trace light patterns across my skin.

Even as he settles between my legs, his lips back on mine, his hands don't stop moving. Peeta is everywhere around me. My skin feels electric. I feel every shift of him against me. I'm vaguely aware of a low moan leaving my mouth as his fingers find the clasp on my bra and the straps slide from my shoulders. He's so warm above me, and strong and alive. I squeeze my eyes tight and curl my fingers around his biceps in an attempt to root myself in the moment. I don't believe I'm capable of loving, not the way Peeta does, but I do know beyond a doubt that I will give my life for him. He means that much to me. And, I know that a world without Peeta is a darker place for everyone.

My thoughts are pulled back to my own body as he tugs my bra off my arms completely and begins kissing a path across my chest. It's my turn to have my breath hitch as his lips wrap around first one nipple then the other, his tongue darting out to tease them. I suck my stomach in as a reflex as Peeta counts my ribs with kisses and makes his way to my belly button. I'm suddenly very aware of the way his breath plays across my skin and how close he is to the juncture of my thighs. I raise my head from the pillow to find his eyes, two deep azure pits, staring back at me. His lips are frozen in a kiss just above the elastic band of my panties. I can feel him smile as he takes me in. It occurs to me that perhaps he's done this before, despite all his talk of loving me since we were five.

"You've done this before." What I intend to be a statement comes out as an accusation. I can feel my eyes narrow. "You move as if you've done this before." I'm relieved when he shakes his head, his hair tickling my skin and sending small ripples of pleasure through me. He chuckles and places another kiss on my stomach as his hands find the curve of my hip. His fingers rest just beneath the scrap of fabric covering my sex.

"I have older brothers, Katniss," he explains as he pulls, guiding the material down my thighs, past my knees, over my calves and onto the floor. My knees close of their own volition. Peeta gently parts them, opening myself to him and settling into his previous position before continuing. "Aside from the pictures they kept hidden under their mattress, I heard them talk about which girls in school liked what. And after Rye married, well, let's just say I learned more about my sister-in-law's preferences in bed than I ever cared to. But no, I've never had any… _practical_ experience."

He places my legs over his shoulders and exhales my name before placing a kiss where I would never expect a man to. The stripping of my body hair has left me bare and sensitive to the wet heat of his mouth and tongue. My entire world narrows to Peeta and what he's making me feel. Sweet sparks travel from where his mouth is busy working on me to my chest, toes and fingertips. Soon, too soon, I feel myself contracting against his tongue. When I am finally able to open my eyes, I see Peeta, his chin resting against my belly, a small, unsure smile playing across his lips.

"You've really never done that before?"

He chuckles and kisses me just below my belly button. "No, never. Have you ever had that done to you before?"

He asks with his eyebrows raised, pretending to joke. But I know better. Now, after last year's ruse has made me more aware of what others are thinking, I know how my community perceives me. I know what they think goes on at night in the Victor's Village between me and Peeta, and what they think I'm doing when I sneak into the woods with Gale each Sunday. But other than a stolen kiss, Gale's never touched me and prior to that I'd never considered him as anything more than a friend and hunting partner. So, I bite my lower lip and give my head a small shake, my eyes never leaving Peeta's face. He must find my response satisfactory, because he rises up to kiss me once more, shucking his boxers and the final barrier between us as he does. He settles into my hips with ease, his erection pressing insistently against my opening. He looks concerned, as if something's just occurred to him.

"Katniss, I don't have anything."

My expression must give away my confusion.

"To prevent a baby. I never thought we'd be in this position," he trails off, his voice betraying his wonderment.

I cup his face in both hands and bring him into a kiss as I raise my hips to meet his.

"It's okay," I whisper into his mouth. "We don't need anything." I don't plan on making it out of the arena alive. I was the focus last time. Now it's Peeta's turn. Even if we were to conceive a child tonight, it wouldn't matter. But, as usual, Peeta reads my thoughts as clearly as if I had murmured them into his ear.

"Katniss, it does matter. You're making it out of the arena."

He captures my lips, preventing any kind of retort and distracting me as he thrusts into me. Even though he goes slowly, there's a burning sensation as I'm stretched in a new way. I whimper, frozen in place, as I try to will my muscles to adjust. Peeta, for his part, peppers my face in kisses and tells me I'm beautiful and perfect and amazing and to let him know when I'm comfortable. As my discomfort eases and he begins a slow, steady rhythm, I notice a loosening in my limbs. Moving on instinct, I raise my legs higher on his torso. My reward is his low moan reverberating against my throat as he pushes deeper. I feel a spark deep in my belly, and bit by bit it expands to a flame that spreads from my gut to my chest and out to my fingers and toes. I recognize the feeling as the same one that Peeta triggered with his tongue. I jerk his face to mine and thrust my tongue past his lips as my insides tighten around him.

He exhales heavily into my mouth and moans my name, his hips picking up speed. It's all I can do to hold him tight as he breaks apart in my arms. I can feel a gush of wetness where we're joined, but say nothing. I'm content to watch him and stroke his hair, his head resting on my chest as he recovers. Too soon, he pulls away. His smile is sad. I'm not the only one that knows this is likely the only chance we'll have to be together in this way. Asking fate to let us both leave the arena alive twice in two years is simply too much. Peeta leans over the edge of my bed and hands me my nightshirt. He slips on his boxers as I cover myself before lying down behind me yet again. He whispers that he loves me, presses a kiss to the back of my neck and drifts to sleep.

I stay awake, wondering if the tightness I feel in my chest is anger at the Capitol, or my heartbreaking. Perhaps it's both.

* * *

><p>FIN<p>

Author's Note: The two songs I listened to the most while writing this were "If I Die Young" by The Band Perry and "Samson" by Regina Spektor. Both are great songs and I found them useful to help me get into Katniss' mindset. At least, I hope I got into her mindset.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Gale

I meant for this story to be a one-shot. Then a plot bunny bit me and forced me to add this chapter and another to follow. Damn plot bunny rabies. It's a real disease, people.

I hope you enjoy this. As always, thank you for reading, and please take the time to review.

-Katie

* * *

><p>The Games are aired from 7pm to 9pm for their duration. The two hours are used to catch up those in the Districts who have to work to keep supplying the Capitol. Both hours are required viewing for all citizens. For those who wish, they can watch the live feed during the day.<p>

I shouldn't watch the live feed, but I can't help it. My mother encourages me to go out and hunt, or at least gather game from the snares, but not even the woods quiets my mind.

The first days of the Games are the worst. Those days, there is no live feed. There are just the evening updates: some stock film of the Tributes getting off the train, meeting their prep teams, a few hair and makeup shots. Part of me is pleased to see that Katniss looks aloof as they work on her. She shows no fear; that the Capitol does not own her, no matter what they do. Mellark, on the other hand, seems too pensive. I've only seen him around school and don't know him that well, but he seems to have the same attitude as prey before it's brought down. He knows the end is coming. He's just waiting for the when, where and how.

As I watch his face flash across the screen, part of me regrets not volunteering to go with Katniss into the arena. I know I would do a better job of keeping her safe than some soft merchant's son… but we had a deal. If one of us is reaped, the other stays behind to provide for both families. I couldn't go back on that. She would never forgive me, and then where would I be?

* * *

><p>Six months ago, around New Year's Day, I realized that my Catnip was indeed a beautiful young woman. A young woman that perhaps I should be paying attention to, instead of listening to Darius flirt with her and having to watch her flirt back. She's so pure, so naïve when it comes to the intentions of men, that she didn't even realize that she was encouraging Darius when she smiled and laughed at his exaggerated jokes about the value of his kisses.<p>

I considered throwing in a dig about how much his woman values my kisses, but stopped myself. I knew that the satisfaction was not worth losing a customer for several weeks while he licked his wounds. And, I didn't want to scare her off.

So, I began to feel her out. I suggested that we run away together, into the woods. That we could escape the Capitol that way. She scoffed and looked at me as if I were insane. So I brought it up sparingly, and only threw in casual references to raising children on the run. Her spine stiffened at both, so I settled into a pattern of dropping hints and hoping she'd come around.

In the meantime, I took up with Madge Undersee. That particular choice kept me on pins and needles whenever the girls were together. One false word from Madge and any hope with Katniss would fly out the window.

Fortunately, Katniss never bothered to ask Madge those kinds of questions. And Madge liked the taste of my kisses more than the weight of truth on her shoulders. Katniss never knew a thing about her, or any of the other girls I tumbled.

* * *

><p>She looks stunning during the opening ceremonies; the announcers have already decided to call her the Girl on Fire.<p>

I'm sitting in the main square with the Everdeens and my own family. The atmosphere is not as festive here as it is in Districts 1, 2 and 4. Here we'll do the bare minimum to meet the Capitol's standards and avoid punishment, but we won't celebrate the death of our own. The Katniss I see on the screens before me is not the girl I know. She's smiling, waving to the citizens of the Capitol. She's working to capture their hearts.

She's holding Mellark's hand.

That detail would usually mean nothing, except he's looking at her as if she's the very sun, the source of Life itself. It's not the first time I've seen him look at her that way. I've noticed it before, when she brings Prim by the bakery to look at the cakes they couldn't possibly afford. Sometimes, I would see him through the window, watching Katniss as she watched Prim. I could swear that he kept baking newer, grander cakes and putting them in the window just to make sure the Everdeen girls would stop by. So, the fact that he looks at her that way does nothing to shake me.

What shakes me is that Katniss is giving him a genuine smile in return.

When he announces a few nights later that he has no sweetheart in District 12, no one to go home to should he win, I feel a twinge of recognition in the back of my brain. I know what's coming next. When he announces that there's no one to go home to because she's with him, that Peeta Mellark is in love with Katniss Everdeen, the District gives a collective gasp. Even Mrs. Everdeen seems enchanted by his earnest confession and the tears pricking the corners of his eyes. There's a second, collective lovelorn sigh when the cameras cut back to Katniss. Her gaze settles in her lap, her lower lip is caught between her teeth and a light blush spreads across her cheeks, neck and the visible portion of her chest. She looks like a girl who is truly in love.

I feel a stone sink deep in my stomach.

* * *

><p>I find myself taking refuge in the woods during the first days of the Games. There are snares to check, families to feed. I try to sort things out as I work and gather my prey into my game bag.<p>

Peeta has teamed up with the Careers. Most believe this is his attempt to steer them away from Katniss, to cripple them and either escape to go work with her or sacrifice himself for her. I don't doubt he's trying to help her, that he genuinely wants her to survive. But Katniss, much to my joy, is as suspicious as ever and very much doubts Mellark's intentions. She thinks he's teamed up with the Careers for real. She begins to view him as a target that needs to be eliminated to ensure her survival. To make sure she comes home to Prim. And, of course, to me.

So, I'm just not capable of being sorry about it when he gets hit by the tracker jackers she drops on his head.

* * *

><p>Tonight, after I come home from checking my snares, I enter an empty house. My mother and siblings must be in the square. It's 6:58, and everyone must be in front of a TV by then. In a District with strict Peacekeepers, failure to watch the Games at the appointed hour results in a public whipping. In 12, it means that the Peacekeepers will exhort us a little bit more than they usually would.<p>

Just as I finish storing the game, our TV clicks on. Claudius Templesmith's familiar boom echoes in the living room over the image of Katniss, sitting up in the tree where she's settled in for the night. I can still see the traces of sadness in her face from when the little girl died. It may be cold, but I'm glad the girl's gone. She would soon have been dead weight, just a liability and a hurdle to Katniss coming home. My thoughts drift from Katniss' dead ally to what Templesmith is saying. If both Tributes from the same District are the last two standing, both can win.

Katniss puts two and two together far more quickly than I can. She shouts Mellark's name with a sweet, desperate edge that makes me think of all the things I do with Madge in the dark. Katniss has never been a good actress or liar. I know she can't be faking whatever emotion is making her say his name like that.

I stand up and grab my jacket, intent on heading to the square to find the mayor's blonde daughter and draw her to the slag heap. But my mind stays with the image of Katniss, awake and yearning for Mellark.

* * *

><p>If Madge notices that I come around more now that Katniss has teamed with Mellark and they're trapped in that damn cave together, she doesn't say a word.<p>

She doesn't protest when I tug a little too roughly on her clothing, tearing buttons, lace and seams. Or when I leave love bites across her neck and breasts, or the bruises from my too-tight grip on her hips as I take her, one hand over her mouth to keep her parents or housekeeper from hearing. In fact, she gives as good as she gets, and I find myself nursing scratch marks on my back. The sting when sweat rolls into the tracks, be it from hunting or toiling in the mines with my newly appointed crew, is welcome. It keeps me grounded.

If I didn't have those marks, I would go mad with what I've seen on the 24 hour broadcasts of the Hunger Games. See, the Gamemakers have decided that the star-crossed lovers of District 12 should feature on the real time airing of the games, so they've used a split screen for the first time I can remember. Katniss and Mellark can be seen on the left half, the other remaining Tributes on the right. To keep all of us in the loop, the Capitol has outfitted the hidden cameras with a night vision feature. There's one embedded in a backpack that Katniss unwittingly positioned to face where she and Mellark are sleeping.

So I watch them crawl into a sleeping bag together. I watch them as they caress each other and whisper happy stories. I laugh at Katniss' retelling of the goat story. I bite down bile when she kisses him first. I'm fairly certain he's now her first kiss, something I was hoping I would be. But, at least I can tell there's no real passion in it.

A few days later, after she's woken up from that ill-advised trip to the Cornucopia, they prove me wrong. She kisses him again, this time with real heat. I begin to see red as her hands creep under his shirt and his skim down her sides, settling on her hips and pulling her more fully against him. But her head wound opens up and Mellark earns good credit on behalf of all teenaged boys when he insists she rests instead of escalating the situation.

I manage to watch him as Katniss guards them both, his face all sweetness and adoration as his arm holds her tight to his chest, for sixty seconds or so before I have to turn away.

I become sullen when I hear Mellark confess that he's loved her since he was five, when he first heard her sing. Although, if I'm going to be perfectly honest, I'm sullen because I've never been lucky enough to hear her sing, or, if I have, I don't remember it. I'm jealous that he's remembered something sweet about the girl I love when I couldn't manage to do so myself. I bring my focus back to the screen in time to hear Katniss confess that he doesn't have much competition for her affections, inside or outside the arena.

I reach for a bottle of the white liquor I started storing the day after she left.

* * *

><p>I don't understand what she's doing after Claudius Templesmith announces that only one of them can survive the arena. She brought her bow up to shoot him through the heart. At this range, I know she won't miss. But he throws his knife away, the fool apparently doesn't value life, and she lowers the weapon. Then, she's on her knees, trying to redress the wound on Mellark's leg. She looks up at him with a crazed desperation, and that's when I know she won't leave without him. Either they'll both die or both come home. There will be no in-between for Katniss Everdeen.<p>

There never is.

* * *

><p>After she came home, after I had to watch her cuddle up to Mellark twice on national TV and say that she would keep him safe and attach her lips to his time after time after time, after I finally realized that I had to let go of Madge if I wanted a shot at Katniss, I took my chance. I made her wait in the woods for hours before I showed up. I was relieved when she threw herself at me; I thought that perhaps I had a chance. Rumors were swirling that she and Mellark had had a falling out, and although I saw them together often enough, I decided that today would be the day I made my move, any kind of move, if only to have a bright memory while I spent ten hours imprisoned underground each day.<p>

But as the day wore on, I got no indication from her that she had even thought of me while she was in the arena. We didn't talk about what had happened; we talked about news in town, checking traps, but there were references to Mellark everywhere.

"Oh, Gale, this will be great with that fresh bread Peeta brought over this morning!"

"You should really try one of the cheese buns from the bakery. They're a life saver when I'm trying to get Prim ready for school in the morning."

"Look, Gale, Peeta uses these berries in the tarts Prim and Posy like so much. Let's get some and see if he can't make us a batch."

Finally, just as we reached the fence, I lost it. She hadn't been overly concerned with what I thought while she was in the arena. And even here, with me in front of her, her mind was still on Peeta Fucking Mellark. So, I grabbed her and kissed her, which at least shut her up.

But, it wasn't what I wanted.

She accepted my kiss, was pliable, but didn't return it. The sound that escaped her wasn't one of wanting, like the ones I heard her emit with Mellark in the cave, but one of surprise. Her fists were balled up against my chest, not to bring me closer, but to fend me off. She let me go with ease. There were no needy grasps to keep me in place, no attempts to take my hand or call me back.

It was only a glimpse of her, standing puzzled as I slipped under the fence and walked away that gives me any reason to hope at all.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until nine months later, as I watched her and Mellark in the arena a second time that I realized the truth.<p>

There was something different in how they touched. There was a new closeness, an intuitiveness to how they moved together. It reminded me of how we used to communicate in the woods. With one look, I would know where she needed me to go, and she would know what I needed her to do. But there was more than that to tip me off.

There was the blind panic when she thought he had died. She betrayed her feelings when she was ready to shoot Odair before asking what he was doing. And when she dropped her bow and quiver into the dirt to throw herself at Mellark. I know my Catnip. That was no planned move. Anger burned in my chest as I saw her straddle him and his hands settled firmly, intimately on her waist. He had no right to touch her that way, fake marriage (and pregnancy) or not.

But still, I watch. I'm watching the real time feed, kept up by a bout of insomnia, which is how I see it all happen, as they sit together on the beach, stripped to their underwear as they guard their other allies. He shows her a locket with pictures of not only her mother and Prim, but me as well. He whispers that if she dies and he lives, there is no real life for him outside of the arena. For a moment, I'm envious of his pretty words. I have never been half as good with language as Peeta Mellark. At first I think she'll go for it, and I'm hoping against hope that she'll agree to let him sacrifice himself. But then the Gamemakers get a clear shot of her eyes and tighten the shot, and I know better.

I grab the bottle of white liquor I keep at hand, now that I know it's the only thing that helps me get through watching her take on the arena and other Tributes.

I can see Katniss' determination. I can see that, in her world, a life without Peeta Mellark is unfathomable, even if that life is softened by the prospect of living the rest of her days with me, of creating a family. She whispers to him that it would matter to her if he were to die, that she can't go back without him. Then she kisses him.

I take a pull from the bottle, not bothering with a glass. Everyone's asleep as it is. There's no one to see what I'm doing in the dark of night.

This kiss is different from the other ones they've shared. It has more of the flavor of last year's kiss, before her head started bleeding again and Mellark put a stop to their activities. This time, there are no wounds to put a halt to things, and I have to watch as Katniss, pure, naïve Katniss, pulls Mellark down to lie over her on the sand. Her hands move over his back with a confidence I don't expect as her tongue does battle with his in a dance that must be familiar to all of Panem by now.

Tears begin to form in the corners of my eyes, but I cannot bring myself to look away.

For his part, Mellark shows he's not clueless when it comes to women. His hands drift below her undershirt, and his fingers steadily climb, exposing the smooth skin of her midriff to the cameras, until it's clear to all that he's touching her breast. Katniss hitches a leg over his hip and pulls him closer, a needy moan fleeing her mouth as his hips make contact with hers.

I'm entranced, the same way I'm sure everyone else watching is, waiting to see just exactly how far this will go, if it's possible that the two Tributes from District 12 are really so in love that they'll forget where they are and make love on a Capitol-constructed beach. At this point, I have no doubts that they will indeed be screwing each other senseless if nothing stops them. I also realize that they've done this before. There's no other explanation for her willingness to wrap her legs around his waist, or his lack of hesitation before cupping her ass and pulling her more firmly to him. Her fingers scrape across his scalp as he kisses her neck, causing her to arch up into him, pressing her breasts flat against his chest. This is no first time tryst. As wrong as I know it is, I can't help wanting to be Mellark. Just then, Katniss happens to look directly into the hidden camera, her eyes heavy-lidded and dark with lust. What feels like a jolt of electricity goes through me as she moans again, her eyes closing fully as Mellark lavishes her collarbone with affection.

It should be me with her.

As the clock strikes midnight, the bottle of white liquor shatters against the wall to the right of the television, leaving only a starburst pattern in its wake.

* * *

><p>FIN<p>

This was longer than I planned on it being. I meant to just focus on the characters in _Catching Fire_, but since we didn't hear much from Gale in the first two books, I felt like I had to back track him to get him where I wanted him to be.


	3. Peeta

Third and **final** chapter for this story. I have ideas for two more stories bouncing around, though. Thanks for reading and your reviews. I'm sorry this has taken so long to post. I found Peeta difficult to write and wanted to make sure it was as close to perfect as I could get for you guys. Again, I apologize.

Let's get it.

-Katie

* * *

><p>Somehow, I've developed a reputation as a liar.<p>

I've no idea how this came about, as a lie told at home usually resulted in sharp rap across the knuckles from my mother's wooden spoon. The result of those slaps was an aversion to lying, and a deep hatred of that spoon. But, that's not to say I've never bent the truth, or given a version of reality that is real only to me. But, generally speaking, I'm truthful. Even with Capitol cameras covering my every move. And, I have never lied, strictly speaking, when it comes to Katniss. Not to her, or about her.

But that may change.

I watch the prep team run around the Victors as we gather below the stage. Tonight is Interview Night. All of Panem will watch us, former Victors and current Tributes, as we're paraded for them yet again. But, instead of winning their favor, we have a new goal: stoking their love for us into the flames that will fuel the revolution. We all have a role to play, but since Katniss and I will be closing the show, we have to make the strongest statement. It's crucial for our, her, survival. Katniss, in her Cinna-designed wedding gown, with her hair up off her neck is a statement all in herself. She catches my eye and gives me a small, shy smile which I readily return.

We both know that with the events of the past six nights, that dress should be any color but white.

I cast my eyes down and force the smile off my lips. I cannot look amused. I ponder what I want to work into the conversation with Caesar Flickerman that's coming up. It's not entirely true, but it's a definite possibility.

That certainly doesn't qualify me as a liar.

* * *

><p>Five days ago, I woke up in Katniss' bed. Memories of her lithe, tan body beneath my bulkier form as we moved together filled my mind. My eyes drifted across her skin in the pale dawn light. I could barely make out the love bites I left on her neck, but they brought a smile to my lips all the same. Katniss woke up as I kissed the marks, and her eyes met mine. My heart nearly soared when I realized that there was no fear, panic or doubt in her gaze.<p>

She looked happy for the first time in a long time. I wished I could make it go on forever for her.

I have loved her since my father pointed her out to me when we were five. My brothers have mocked me, saying I couldn't possibly understand love, not at sixteen and certainly not at five. My friends scoffed, wondering why I would want a Seam girl, skinny with hunger when I could have one of the more curvaceous merchant's daughters. Only my father seemed to understand, even if there was a slightly bitter edge to it, how one could fall in love, hopelessly and beyond reason, with a girl who sang so as to make the birds stop their songs.

Before I could become too lost in my thoughts, she leaned up and kissed me. Warmth flooded my being, and as she curled a leg over my hip I felt my groin stir. I could lose myself in her kisses forever. To think, a day ago my heart ached from the restraint I had to show. Even when she was leaning in to mimic Finnick, her lips millimeters from mine, I couldn't kiss her. I didn't believe she wanted my kisses without cameras on us. This time, in her bed, no cameras in sight, I knew each kiss from here on out would be real, pure. Just as Katniss pulled me to lie over her, and my fingers began to creep under her shirt, someone knocked on the door.

"Figures," I muttered against her mouth. To my delight, she chuckled, sending a pleasant shiver through out me before I pulled away.

Clad only in my boxers, I hit the door open button just as the knocking resumed. Haymitch, no doubt already drunk, stumbled into the room and landed on his backside when the door slid into the wall. He glanced at me, to the bed where Katniss had propped herself on an elbow to observe the scene and back to me.

"Well, this is a surprising development. Didn't think you'd come around this quickly, sweetheart," he spat out as he picked himself up off the floor.

The mixed look of surprise, embarrassment and hope as he walked out of the room took the sting out of his words.

* * *

><p>Our training sessions for the Quarter Quell were the exact opposite of last year. No one, other than Katniss and I, were on time. No one seemed to give a damn about competing. We worked together, learned together, ate together and joked together. Even though some of the Careers were standoffish, it was a far more relaxed atmosphere. I could tell the Gamemakers were uncomfortable, even as they drank their wine and nibbled on their roast turkey, with the level of camaraderie we displayed. But, I still went about my business. I joked with the men at the wrestling station, but was careful to keep my eyes averted when Johanna stripped down. I could feel Katniss watching me, waiting to see if I'll look, so I kept my focus. It was harder to do than I expected, especially with Finnick Odair catcalling the shorter woman every chance he got. So, I moved on to the camouflage station. The morphlings from District 6 didn't speak, per se; they communicated with smiles and touches. I fell in with them naturally and found myself genuinely enjoying their company as we took turns painting different patterns onto each other.<p>

I felt my chest tighten as I realized how childlike the drug has made them. Anger began to fizz under my skin as I thought about how willing the Capitol was to have this pair fight to the death before them another time. Fortunately, Katniss saved me from making a scene with her archery display. I was able to watch her with the rest of them.

I made a mental note to take a swing at Odair if I ever saw him stare at her rear that way again. In the meantime, I joked along with him about putting in an official request to ally with her during the Games.

* * *

><p>Although I made the same joke as we headed back up to our floor after training, in truth, Katniss and I cemented our partnership that night, in a more interesting way.<p>

As soon as we were out of sight of the dining room table, she took me by the hand and pulled me with her into her room. I barely managed to close and lock the door behind me when she'd whirled to face me head on. I realized her eyes were narrowed, and felt my stomach drop out as I tried to figure out what I could have done wrong between that morning and that evening.

"You really weren't distracted by Johanna Mason and her oiled breasts?"

I nearly laughed. "No, Katniss," I said as I took her hands in mine, "I was not distracted by Johanna Mason and her oiled breasts." I debated for all of a millisecond before pushing forward. I gave her a goofy grin and an exaggerated leer, aimed at her chest. "Now, if you wanted to oil up…" I left the thought to hang, for effect.

It worked. She snorted and kissed me, a deep lingering kiss that found my resolve to take a shower before bed wavering. It was amazing what could change in a day. I planned on helping her, again, make it out of the arena alive. I'd made a deal with Haymitch. I also knew that Katniss had likely cut a deal with him. But, I was set on getting my way this time around. She would make it out alive, to get married and have children and live her life. A thought niggled at the back of my brain, even as I toed off my shoes, sat against the headboard and pulled her onto my lap, but it was quickly pushed out as my tongue plundered her mouth. She was pressed fully against me, her nails scraping against my scalp as she suckled my neck, sending what felt like bolts of electricity through my body. I ripped my shirt over my head and went to work on hers. I was not leaving that bed until I'd felt her clench around me at least once. The thought came thundering back, even as my fingers worked on the clasp of her bra.

If we kept having unprotected sex, she could make it out of the arena alive and carrying my child.

Part of me felt elation at the idea. Part of me, hopefully the best part of me, could live on with Katniss. I wouldn't be dying for the Capitol, but rather for my child and the girl I'd always imagined marrying. But I was hesitant to force her into a life of raising my baby if I wasn't around. I knew there were elixirs she could take to terminate a pregnancy, but I also knew Katniss. She would never shirk responsibility, even if she wanted to, and if I were to die I know she wouldn't want to kill off a piece of me. Whether out of honest love or simple remembrance, I wasn't sure. I just didn't want her to have to make that choice.

But, surprisingly few Tributes have sex before or during the Games. If there had ever been Tributes screwing during the Games, there would be video evidence. It would have been ratings gold in the Capitol. And given the lack of condoms or other birth control in the Training Center, it was clearly not an issue they had to address before.

"Katniss, stop," I gasped. She pulled away, her lips swollen and eyes disappointed. My gaze fell on her now exposed chest, and my hands cupped her breasts of their own accord. She fit my hands perfectly. I could feel the nipples pucker against each of my palms.

"Do you want to stop?" she whispered, uncertainty edged with something close to anger lacing her words. It pulled me from my distraction.

"No, no I don't _want_ to stop," I confessed, my head lurching forward to rest between her breasts as my arms wrapped around her, holding her close. The pants they give us for training are thin, and I could feel where she'd grown wet against my hard on. Without warning, her fingers were cradling my head, pulling it away from her warmth.

"Then what's wrong, Peeta?" Her gray Seam eyes were boring into me, demanding a simple answer to a not-so-simple question. She knew, on some level, what was bothering me, but she was going to make me say it. And then she was going to confront me about my plan to sacrifice myself to let her live.

So, I kissed her instead of actually answer, and laid her down and tugged off the rest of her clothes. That must have been satisfactory, because soon she had me naked, too.

* * *

><p>I don't remember much from the next three days of training, other than painting flowers with the morphlings and trying to keep an eye on Odair whenever he was working with Katniss.<p>

I soon found that the redhead, despite his legendary prowess, had no effect on her. She pulled me to bed with her each night. There were two truths that both of us knew: I slept with her because I loved her, while Katniss, confused about her feelings, used it as a diversionary tactic. But, it served its purpose either way, so we didn't bother to stop.

* * *

><p>We signed our death warrants in the final day of training. They all thought we had it planned, that it was an orchestrated act. Could anyone blame them for thinking that way, when we hadn't exactly made any move to hide my presence in her room at night? But it wasn't, and I had to fight to keep myself from grinning at her like a fool over the dinner table. We had started to work as a unit without any planning on our part.<p>

That night, she wrapped me in her arms in the middle of the hall. I was caught off guard; it wasn't like Katniss to show affection where people may see it. Not without cameras around. I pulled her tighter to my chest, my hands drifting of their own accord into her hair. It felt strange, to be speaking so candidly about the likelihood of President Snow plotting our deaths with the Gamemakers after our display today. Even stranger to say that we planned to go down fighting, to acknowledge that something is brewing in the Districts, where his cameras would most likely pick up our conversation. But, there was an odd kind of courage coursing through me. I felt it before, last year, when I was ready to die, ready to be a martyr for my love of her. Now, I felt it because I knew I had something to live for, that dying meant something as long as I knew I'd shared something precious with her, and her with me, and that could live on. Even if it only lived on in her memory.

So, when she asked me what we should do with our last few days, I answered honestly.

"I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you."

* * *

><p>On what should have been our Media Coaching Day, Effie and Haymitch cut us loose. I could sense that Katniss wanted out of the Training Center, something that didn't seem possible… until I remembered the roof. Hand-in-hand, we made our way to the garden on top of the Training Center. In the center of all the brightly colored flowers, there was a well-manicured lawn complete with a pergola overrun by flowering vines. We set up the blankets and picnic basket at the very center of the lawn and sprawled out to enjoy the sunshine. There was never time to just laze in the sun in District 12; everyone was always busy, from the young kids toting their parents' tools to the teens preparing to either take on a trade or head to the mines. Even the few times we were allowed to assemble in the school yard for recess, there was too much coal dust in the air to really enjoy the sun's rays. Before long, I stripped off my shirt and Katniss was down to the tank top she received for training. Our boots sat at the edge of the blanket. Her hair was loose, free of its usual braid, cascading over her shoulders. Katniss looked relaxed, unguarded, for the first time I could remember since the accident that took her father.<p>

I took out my supplies and began to sketch her as she leaned back on her elbows, eyes closed.

I was nearly finished when I felt the grape smack me in the forehead. I glanced up from my work in time to see her pop another in her mouth as she grinned at me. Feigning annoyance, I asked, "Is there something I can help you with?"

Still on her elbows, she rolled her head toward me and teased, "I thought you wanted to spend time with me, not your sketch book."

So, I put my things away and focused on her, not that doing that was ever difficult for me. I had been focused on her for years. But, as we played catch off the force field, I learned new things about her. How her father taught her to sing, hunt and fish. That her mother had been joyful, full of life and humor before her father passed away. That Prim hated to be woken up too quickly. I discovered more about her life in a few hours than I had living in the same District for 17 years.

After lunch, Katniss snapped off some of the flowering vines and brought them back to the blankets. She surprised me by lying down and putting her head in my lap. Even after the new dimensions our relationship had taken on in the past few days, any kind of outward display of affection startled me. But, I went with it, and took advantage of the opportunity to play with her hair while she practiced her knots. It didn't escape my notice the way her eyes closed in pleasure as I wound my fingers through the wavy, chestnut-colored strands. Eventually, she fell asleep.

I woke her in time for us to watch the sun set over the Capitol. The air was turning cold, so I settled her between my legs and wrapped a blanket around us. Katniss gathered her hair over her left shoulder, leaving me a perfect place to rest my chin and watch the colors change in the sky. I whispered in her ear as the sun painted orange, pink and red streaks across the glass facades of the buildings. The effect made them look like pillars of fire encased in ice, burning hot and ready to explode, but barely contained. It was a chilling sight. Every resident of District 12, miner or merchant, fears fire on some level.

Katniss must have felt me stiffen in fear behind her, because the next thing I knew, her lips were carefully working their way from below my left ear, over my jaw and up to my lips. Ice cold terror melted into desire when she turned to face me, rising up on to her knees to more firmly press her lips to mine. I was aware of her barely-clothed breasts as they pressed against my still-naked chest and the low growl that escaped my throat. She pulled away, a mischievous glint in her eye as she took my hand and pulled me to the pergola.

I staggered after her into the shadow, only stopping when I had her pressed between me and the wooden lattice work of the structure. Her lips quickly found the spot on my neck that made my knees grow weak and lavished it with her tongue; I had to grab her hips to keep myself steady. Soon, I recovered enough to go on my own offensive, pushing her tank up and over her head and unzipping her pants as I kissed her. Our kisses were intense and rough, our tongues battling for dominance in between nipping at each other. Everything was fast with a passionate edge, as if something had broken inside of us, and perhaps it had. Facing your impending death twice before the age of 18 will do that to a person.

I doubt either of us could give a detailed account of what happened next, but before long Katniss was naked from the waist up, her arms wrapped around my neck as we kissed. I unzipped her pants and worked my hand inside her panties, stroking the warm, wet flesh I found there. I felt a surge of masculine pride when I felt her sag against me as I hit the little bundle of nerves Rye had stressed was so important. I worked my hand in time with the rhythmic thrusting of her hips until I felt that magical clenching around my fingertips. She was beautiful when she came, my name a whisper on her lips, her face buried in the crook of my neck. I did my best to be patient, to let her calm down, but I'm sure I was over eager and pulled away too soon.

Katniss could never be called a selfish lover. When I pulled away, she shucked off the rest of her clothing before catching the waist of my pants and yanking down the tab on my zipper. I gasped when she found me through the cloth of my boxers, and had to pull her hands away when she began to stroke me. I stripped off my pants and soon, all I was aware of was the feel of cool, damp grass beneath me, rough wood against my back and Katniss, soft, warm and feminine above me. Some of the edge had come off her passion with her orgasm; she was content in that moment to straddle my lap, kiss me and give the occasional light scratch to my nipples. She relished in the way I moaned into her mouth, my hips reflexively jerking upward into her, searching for her heat. When I couldn't stand her teasing any longer, I grabbed her by the hips to still her motions. In response, she framed my face with her hands and kissed me as she sank onto my cock.

Even after five nights of making love to her, I wasn't prepared for the slick heat of her body, the feeling of home I felt whenever I slid into her. And I absolutely loved the little sigh she always gave when I was fully seated deeply in her. I rubbed small circles on her hips and sides as she got used to the new angle, this new feeling, fighting every instinct to surge up into her as hard and fast as I could. Katniss rested her head against the wood behind me and suckled at my earlobe as she started a slow up-and-down pace. I pulled her hair out of her face, giving me room to lavish attention to her neck and collarbone. I listened carefully to the sounds she made and took care to kiss the spots that made her moan twice.

When I realized my own orgasm was imminent, I dropped a hand to where we were joined. Katniss had laced her fingers through the lattice on either side of my head and was using it as leverage to maintain a faster rhythm. I did my best to match her and was again rewarded with the feeling of her tightening around me before I spilled into her. Spent, her head slumped to my shoulder and her nails ran random patterns between the freckles that dotted my shoulders. I held her close, enjoying the feeling of her and wishing to stay in that moment forever. I was so focused on that fantasy that I nearly missed what she asked.

"So, am I still pure, Peeta?"

I could practically hear the way her brow was arched as she asked the question. I shifted her off of my shoulder so I could look her in the eye. She was suddenly shy, the way she always seemed to be after we made love, but there was a degree of teasing there, too. I smiled at her, and earned a smile in return before I leaned in to answer her.

"For the Capitol? Yes. For District 12… well, let's just say you're not the only bride who shouldn't technically wear white on her wedding day. You're certainly no Aurelia Huxley, though." She slaps me lightly on the chest when I mention the loosest girl in our class at school. I continued, "There will always be a type of purity to you, Katniss. You see certain things very clearly: your convictions will never be compromised and you would not hesitate to lay down your life for those you love." I could tell she had to fight to not look away when I said the word "love". Perhaps it was too much, too soon, but I pressed on, "The Capitol can never take that. That type of purity will always be there."

I kissed her softly before shifting her off my lap and retrieving her clothing. I could see the lights of various rooftop discos in the distance, signaling that the hour was later than I thought, nearly 10. We got dressed in near silence, and gathered our picnic things in the same manner. But, just as on the way up, we held hands all the way until we reached her bedroom and fell into bed.

We made love twice more before dawn.

* * *

><p>I keep thinking of the past week as we sit on stage, blinding lights thrown into our faces. I think of all the things I've learned, all the new things I've discovered to love about Katniss as I listen to Odair read his poem and the other Victors stir up dissent among the crowd. By the time Katniss takes the stage, it's a madhouse with everyone weeping. She looks beautiful in the dress, her wedding dress, dazzling in white and impossible not to look at. My heart aches as I think about a wedding that will never happen, but the pressure alleviates as I think about the potential that she could be carrying my child. It would be too soon to tell for a pregnancy test, but it's not impossible.<p>

The crowd truly loses it when she twirls and goes up in flames. My first instinct is to run to her, tackle her and put out the fire, but I've learned to trust Cinna and Portia. This is happening for a reason. And what a reason! She is suddenly a mockingjay, a symbol of rebellion to all the Districts of Panem; to the Capitol viewers, she's merely a girl who went from being in a wedding gown, full of life, to wearing a burial shroud. She comes and sits next to me after her interview and gives my hand an encouraging squeeze as Caesar calls me up.

Our banter is as light as ever, but I'm on autopilot. I'm imagining the life the Capitol and President Snow and the Gamemakers have stolen from me a second time. I'm imagining the way she would look in District 12's typical wedding dress, a plain white garment cut similarly to the dress she wore for her first reaping. I can see how she'd look, her hair up in braids and laced through with white flowers picked by Prim. I imagine how she'd taste when I kiss her after the mayor makes it official and assigns us a domicile. I can see our few family and friends joining us for a bit of cake I'd make at home and a song or two. I can even visualize how Katniss would smear cake across my face instead of allowing me to delicately take my first bite from her fingers. I can even imagine our Toasting, completed with bread I'd make from the finest white flour I could find.

So, even though I find it difficult to breath, I easily navigate the questions Caesar asks and can convincingly tell him about our "Toasting" before the Quarter Quell announcement. I know I sound bitter, I mean to. It gives me the opening I'm looking for.

"Surely even a brief time is better than no time?" Caesar asks, his eyes surprisingly earnest.

My mind flashes back over the past week, the feeling of Katniss beneath and above and around me, the dual feeling of elation and fear at the idea of bringing a child into this world. My voice shakes with genuine emotion as I light the fuse of the bomb we Victors have been building all night in one swift sentence.

"Maybe I'd think that, too, Caesar, if it weren't for the baby."

* * *

><p>END<p>

I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you for sticking with me, and as always, please read and review.

PS- Many thanks to Kerinh22 for pointing out things spell check/my addled brain didn't catch at 1am!


End file.
